Luke J. Holt

Warm Storm - Poem by Luke J. Holt

i lay with her pets in a trance on a snowflakeshe whispers gales that limp to the gully of a dream that drips violet curtains.I have zeros in my ears until she is thereyoking shadows that grind and gnash against the paste yellow of hard squash((that which spangles the beach at night under lanterns)) an urchin sprawled like pale David waits for the born ease of a bearded minstrel keymy temple yearns for the crack of flailsthe din of horror, blades and explosivesshapes that are the swallowed drops of dopamine making spirally hexagons dance; my essence looms as your petat the foot of the chess seton firei toil in the crescent reef of your nestgetting snagged on hurtful corals that make my legs bleed in the cold surf of now.i ignore the graceless wars of the worldas you ignore the graceless dance of Ihe who sits in gargoyle hunger for the lips of the hurricane to touch my earand touchdown is a blue gas that sets fire to apathy! and a green fairy watches and grins like new moneyand relinquished is all that was dripping with brine and rotting wood and the waifs of dead corn and the lives as vacant and ghostly as cocoons from which broke forth queen in amber! lids flutter till churches grow forth from the russet sheet behindmy legs and hands barnacles my head aglow with a name in Matisse-blue neonand my shambling dreams beside the one who makes me full; who forbids the winter of my stomachand makes shells chatter on shores where i stand and watch ships of no anger sail; the broccoli castle levitates behind a door of plated mirrorand the torrents of heat and the honeyed rain of the healing hearti can breathe in you even in the closeness of no airand storms that flood my ears with yellow joy may soon not quietand such hopes are diamondscaught in traps set by thievesdressed like ratsplaying pianos

Comments about Warm Storm by Luke J. Holt

you have zeroes in your ears until she is there? wow.
yoking shadows.... nice. i have never seen that combo, so i applaud it.
who sits in gargoyle hunger for the lips of the hurricane to touch my ear - whoa nelly!